


Someplace Nice

by John_Faina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, First Dates, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Smut, Sweet, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Faina/pseuds/John_Faina
Summary: Takes place post-S15E09: The Trap. Now that Dean has apologized to Cas and things are...a little better between them, he wants to take Cas someplace nice. The question that Dean grapples with when they go out, is the question of whether or not he can handle Cas's undivided attention for an entire evening.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	Someplace Nice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fanfic. I've been a fan since 2012, but haven't watched devotedly since around S9. I'll catch up with clips and random episodes every now and then, but I haven't seen a season in its entirety since then. Decided to get a little caught up for the last season, though, and boy when I tell you I CRIED watching Dean's apology prayer scene! It was so moving, and so refreshing to see Dean admit that he's a stubborn idiot with anger issues. I was really, really proud of the writers for actually writing that scene and that dialogue. And, in my opinion, I think it could potentially go a long way to breaking down the barriers between Dean and Cas.
> 
> So, without further ado, here's the result of my daydreaming about what Dean and Cas would be like on a date.

*

Dean looked down at his menu, a crease between his eyebrows as though its options had just declared themselves vegan. They hadn’t, of course; no restaurant passed the Winchester test unless it had at the very least one good burger option and one good steak. None of the curvy, curly words actually registered, though. He gripped the thick, glossy thing with two hands, staring, determinedly _not_ lifting his head or gaze a fraction. Surrounding the table was a very low hum of voices, some clinking flatware, soft music. 

Across the table, his date seemed to be in no hurry to speak or look up either. He was doing the same thing, though the action was bound to be more genuine. Half the things on this menu were foreign to them. Dean could practically see the same creased brow, the wrinkled nose. The questions were surely building. Dean cleared his throat quietly, in preparation, and pretended to peruse the second page rather than the first.

No questions ever came. After several moments of turning the pages, flipping the menu over and back over, and reading through choices he’d never retain, Dean couldn’t take the silence anymore, and glanced up. He promptly swallowed his heart.

Cas was looking at him. 

Sure enough, he had his menu propped open on the table with both hands, and there was a crease in his brow, but he was looking at _him_. How long had he been staring? The tips of Dean’s ears burned pink and he ducked his head, returning his attention raptly to the menu.

“Hey, you know, uh,” he started gruffly, “this place ain’t all that unreasonable.”

Silence.

“And they have pie,” he added, spotting the word at random. It could have said _chicken pot pie_ for all he knew. “Pie’s a good sign.”

More silence. Dean’s grip was practically white-knuckled. The small, decorative group of candles flickered and danced on the table between them.

“Cherry?” Cas asked quietly. Dean could hear the smile in his voice and seized the word with palpable relief. He turned the menu over again and actively looked for the dessert options. Thank every god, pie was listed, in just about every flavor known to man.

“Yeah,” he grinned, looking up. 

Cas’s eyes were twinkling at him, crow’s feet stark in the corners. Dean’s stomach dropped and they sat there staring at each other like a couple of helpless mutes, until a server dressed sharply in all black sidled up to their table with a poised greeting, notepad at the ready. 

By the time she had disappeared with a professional flourish, the odd tension at the table seemed to have broken a little. Dean sat back in his chair, a small smile playing around his lips.

“Well, Cas, I gotta hand it to you,” he said, his eyes darting up and down what he could see of Cas above the table. “You clean up good.”

They were both dressed a little nicer than usual. (Oddly enough, upon his own suggestion.) Cas’s hair was tamed with an appropriate portion of gel, styled for once, rather than sticking out all over his head. His pale blue tie was straight and snug against his clavicle rather than crooked and loose. He looked calmer, more content, and more well-rested than Dean had ever seen him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if maybe Cas hadn’t done a little fine-tuning. Used some of his mojo to freshen up. Was Dean mistaken, or did Cas look a little _younger_? 

Magical bastard. 

“Thank you,” Cas said, shifting. “Though, I can’t really take all the credit. Jimmy’s body is--”

“Dude, okay,” Dean interrupted, raising his hand, sighing. “Don’t make this any freakin’ weirder than it has to be.”

Cas closed his mouth with a little head tilt that suggested amusement. He blinked and looked away, as Dean pinched the space between his eyes.

A date. A _date._

What the hell.

“Well,” Cas said very quietly, “you always look beautiful.”

When Dean dropped his hand to the table with a _thump_ , he saw that Cas’s head was down, and he was looking at him sideways, from underneath his lashes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Dean glanced at the tables surrounding them and then behind him, before looking at Cas again. He opened his mouth to say something, couldn’t think of a damn thing, and shut it again, staring. He opened his mouth again, lips working, trying to form around words that just weren’t coming, until he finally managed to unstick his throat long enough to bite out:

“Shut up.”

It was childish and pinched, but there was a creeping note of pleasure in it, and Cas’s eyes lit up as the tips of Dean’s ears flamed again. Dean dropped his gaze to the table and fiddled with his sweating water glass, pouting at it.

 _Beautiful._ Really? Like a goddamn gemstone?

And dinner? Fucking dinner.

_Someplace nice._

What had he been thinking? Why did he ever think _dinner_ was the best setting for this? Some great big fancy meal in public like they were some kind of goddamn normal? Sitting there like they were going to spend the evening talking about work, Netflix, and the kids. This wasn’t Hallmark. They didn’t even own a fucking bakery. Hell, they should probably get up and leave right now and go do something--

“I’m glad we’re here.”

Dean looked up sharply, squinting. But Cas wasn’t looking at him; he was glancing about, eyes lingering here and there on bits of the decor that was tastefully scattered about the place. Dean watched him for a moment and then glanced around, too. 

It was late evening on a weekday. The restaurant was moderately-sized, spacious, and mostly empty. Sam had picked the place out for them via Google search. It wasn’t the most unique place Dean had ever been. Hell, it wasn’t even the fanciest. But it was warm. Quiet. Comfortable. It was nicer than what they were used to.

Cas liked it.

Dean nodded to himself, a small jerk of the head.

“Yeah, okay. It’s not so bad, I guess.”

Cas finally returned attention to Dean and looked at him with such sweetness, his eyes deep and shining like Dean had said exactly the right thing. Dean was all geared up to roll his eyes, but instead, before he could stop it, a smile flickered across his face, and his heart lurched, so much so that he was propelled forward. He leaned over the table with a sigh, clasping his hands together in front of him. 

“Look,” he said desperately. “Cas. I gotta be honest…”

Cas waited, cocking his head slightly. Dean’s hands fell loose on the table, spreading palms up, and he crumbled, slumping over the table onto his elbows. 

“I got no idea what I’m doing here.”

It was Dean’s turn to wait, pleading.

Cas’s brow furrowed in confusion and, this time, Dean rolled his eyes so hard he felt the strain in his brain. So help him God, if Cas said--

“I assumed we were here to eat.”

Dean groaned, slumping even more.

“Don’t do that, dumbass.”

Cas paused for a brief crinkling of his nose. Dean caught the barely perceptible twinkle in his eye, too. 

He narrowed his own.

“You seem to associate a lot of negative terms with my ass. What is so _dumb_ and _bad_ about my ass, Dean?”

Dean couldn’t help it, he laughed, hanging his head.

“Great,” he said with a flick of his hand, gesturing to an invisible observer, “and he _continues_ flirting. Awesome.”

But there was something that felt like it was unraveling in his chest, making him feel lighter, less tense. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax further. 

This was fine.

It was Cas.

Just Cas. Dinner with Cas.

But, oh, fuck, he was on a _date_ with _Cas_.

Just then, their server came by with a basket of fresh bread and their drinks.

Oh, excellent.

Excellent timing.

Dean downed his whiskey in one gulp and immediately ordered another. They ordered their food, too, even though Dean was pretty sure neither of them had really looked at the stupid froo-froo menu. The food wasn’t what was important here. 

Once the server had dashed off, silence fell over the table again. 

After a moment of picking at the bread and glancing up occasionally to catch the other looking, they both opened their mouths to speak at the same time.

“Dean--”

“Cas--”

Relief flooded Dean and he promptly stuffed half a roll of bread into his mouth, and pointed at him.

“You go,” he said thickly.

Cas smothered a grin. Dean gave him a toothy, bread-filled smile, cheeks bulging.

“I just wanted to say…” Cas began, seeming to choose his words carefully. Dean watched him with rapt attention, chewing, his heart rate spiking. Cas leaned forward. “I know this is uncomfortable for you--”

Dean twitched, tried to make a noise of protest, and promptly choked.

“ _But_ ,” Cas continued pointedly, “you are here. And you did ask.”

The soft, happy little smile that played around Cas’s mouth as he said the words kicked up what felt like every emotion Dean had and sent them whirling chaotically inside him like popped balloons. A flush of pleasure, fleeting excitement. Pride. Gripping guilt. 

Yeah, he asked. It only took him fucking years and plenty of tears, but he asked. 

*

_Sitting there at the kitchen table. Nursing his third whiskey. Cas sitting adjacent, his knee pressing against Dean’s in a gesture that’s clear to them both. Dean’s apology hangs between them, around them, warming air that had been icy for too long. They’re good again. They’re solid. Things are...not quite right, but better than they had been. Dean’s pressing harder than he should, but Cas is letting him. There’s still a lot he wants to say, but for now it’s like he can breathe again._

_They’re staring at the table top in the wake of Sam’s dejected visit; his lumbering footsteps still echoed down the corridor, and Dean thinks that this isn’t so bad. He hates that Eileen left and that Sammy’s heartbroken, but some part of him expects her to come back. He’ll be okay anyway. They were barely a couple. Losing that hope, that promise, will hurt for a few weeks, but Sam’s been through worse, and there’s plenty to keep him distracted until either the pain goes away or Eileen decides to come back._

_But Cas…_

_He’s sick of losing him._

_What would he do? What the_ hell _would he do?_

_Dean swallows._

_“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”_

_Cas’s tired, weary eyes look up at him with surprise. Dean stares into his whiskey._

_“I love you, you know?” he says, his voice low and gruff. It’s not a question._

_There’s a hitch in Cas’s breathing. Slowly, Dean looks up from his whiskey to lock eyes with him, his own steely and hard with emotion. Cas lets out a breath._

_“Dean…”_

_Dean considers him for a moment before he says, “I want to take you someplace nice. Just you and me. If you, uh…” He trails off, suddenly uncertain. “You interested?”_

_The warmth in Cas’s eyes could have melted wallpaper. The hope there is unbearable._

_“Yes, Dean. I’m interested.”_

_*_

Dean swallowed his mouthful of bread with tremendous effort, then washed it down with his second whiskey. Coming up for air, he hissed with the strain and the burn and with a final ticking of his tongue at the taste, focused on Cas.

“Yeah, well,” he said in a low, rough voice. “Somebody’s gotta treat you right.”

There was a long pause and then Cas said, “You don’t treat me right.”

Dean winced and the pleasant burn of the whiskey burned sour, but there was no real anger, no malice behind Cas’s words. Cas was still looking at him with those soft eyes, but they had hardened a little. As Dean watched, they flickered with something like panic, and Cas drew in a sharp breath.

“Is this another apology?”

He sounded merely curious, but Dean detected the notes of fear and resignation, and he practically stumbled over himself trying to get there fast enough to explain:

“No, Cas, it’s a date.” He breathed. “It’s a date. I--it’s--”

“A date,” Cas repeated, confirming, relief clear in his face.

“I--Yeah.”

But something had shifted.

Cas was right and Dean knew it. Even if it was a date, it didn’t make up for the way Dean had treated him, and he couldn’t stand the sweetness of Cas’s eyes just then, the forgiveness in them. How could he still be here after everything? How could he _still_ care about him? What the hell was wrong with Castiel, what kind of wires were crossed and cut and frayed in him that he could look at _Dean_ with so much _love?_

Dean stared at the stupid son-of-a-bitch disbelievingly with a lump in his throat. There was a beat during which he knew what was about to happen (he could feel the prickling, the burning pressure), but it still shocked him when his eyes filled with tears. 

He shook his head and dropped it, lips trembling.

He didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve it, and this _date_ had been a stupid, half-cocked, knee-jerk idea.

“Dean,” Cas said, softly at first, and then again with more force.

Dean looked up, but didn’t meet his eye, choosing instead to look off to the side, eyes shining. He sniffed, his jaw set in a hard line. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“Well, then, let’s go.”

Cas was standing. He came around to Dean’s side of the table, obstructing his view of the other tables, and grabbed his wrist, pulling him up. 

“Hey, hey, wait--”

But Cas’s hand slipped into his own, and he tugged. Dean fumbled in his pocket for some cash, which he dropped onto the table before he was pulled across the restaurant and out the door. 

“Cas--”

The moment they were out of sight, Cas turned. Dean only had time to register his set, determined expression and a hand coming towards him. The next thing he knew, everything was black and nothing and his chest constricted with fear--and then all at once, the world exploded into existence again, and they were standing somewhere decidedly _not_ where they had been standing seconds prior.

Dean staggered a little, but Cas steadied him with a hand on his arm. He sniffed and wiped angrily at the tears that had rolled down his face during the shock of the transport, and looked around.

 _Fucking_ angels.

They were in a room. A motel room, from the looks of it. Though it was dark, Dean could make out blue-green carpeting and a couple of old yellow bedspreads on the beds. It looked a little familiar, but then again, after practically growing up in motel rooms, they all looked the same to him.

“Where are we?” he snapped.

“Missouri.”

Cas hadn’t taken his eyes off him. Dean swallowed.

“Why?”

“Because we needed privacy.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just watched him warily. Cas said nothing either, but continued to look at him with deep, steady eyes, his hand remaining where it was on his arm.

Dean’s irritation began to slowly abate. 

It was completely silent but for the faint hum of a nearby vending machine. They stood there like that for an eternity in the blue-black shadows of the room; light from the covered hallway outside filtered in through the dirty blinds. They were in the middle of nowhere. 

So, when Dean moved a muscle, it was to draw Cas in and wind his arms tight around him, one going around his waist, one around his shoulders. He hooked his chin over his shoulder, blinked, and then buried his face in Cas’s neck.

Cas didn’t go stiff like he usually did, but leaned into it, hugging Dean back without hesitation. 

“Dean--”

“I know I’m an asshole, Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean whispered against his suit collar, squeezing him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

When Cas responded, he sounded breathless and near tears.

“I know.”

Dean pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together, his eyes closed, his breathing heavier than it had been. He let the words come, because if he didn’t, if he didn’t let this moment overcome him, if he didn’t _act_ then the stupid date was for nothing and there was no fucking hope.

“Sometimes I can’t help it, but I--I can’t lose you and I just get so scared,” he said, and gasped a breath so quietly only Cas could have heard it. He kissed Cas, a quick, desperate peck. He lifted his hands to cup his face. “I get so damn scared.” He kissed him again and his hands fell to his shoulders. “But I love you, you know that, don’t you? I _love_ you, Castiel.”

Cas didn’t seem to be breathing at all now. He let Dean kiss him, his hands fisted in Dean’s shirt now, holding on so tight he might have been afraid of falling.

“Dean--” he tried again, but the word was hardly even a whisper.

Dean drew him in again, burying his nose into the side of his head this time. He got two nostrils full of clean, gelled hair. “...goddamn angel _,_ I love you so much...” he breathed, his lips just brushing the shell of Cas’s ear.

Three things happened at once.

Everything electrical in the room went haywire. The light bulbs in the two bedside lamps flickered and then exploded, and it all went dark and silent, as, with a massive _whooshing_ sound, two huge, trembling, and downright terrifying things manifested themselves behind Cas, looming over everything.

“ _Son-of-a-_ -!”

Dean let go of Cas, scrambled backwards with a yelp, hit the nearest bed, and had his knees knocked out from under him. He continued to scramble backwards on the bed, shouting a warning at Cas--but Cas didn’t move, just stood there, stiff and tall and...glowing. The massive shadows that had manifested themselves, Dean realized, were glowing, almost pulsing with a faint blue light, and stretched from one wall of the room to the other. The longer Dean watched, the fainter the light became, until all that was left of it was a dim glow that echoed in Cas’s eyes. The things behind Cas _ruffled_ , snapped, and spread as wide as they could go in the confinements of the room.

“Wings,” he whispered around heaving, terrified breaths. “What the hell…”

Cas’s _wings._

He’d never seen Cas’s wings before. Not these great feathered things. Only shadows, merely the hint of them. They were supposed to be on another plane, another dimension, incomprehensible to human consciousness. How was he seeing them?

Dean slowly sat up, heart thumping wildly, propping himself up with his hands.

Cas stared at him, wide-eyed. There was something slowly dawning in his expression that made Dean’s heart kick up another notch.

Suddenly, the wings were being drawn away from the walls and folded, stiff and tight, against Cas’s back, partially (but not fully) hidden from view. Dean could see the way they continued to tremble. 

“ _What the hell?_ ”

Cas glanced over his shoulder at his wings, as if to make sure they were really there, and back at Dean with that same dawning expression. Rather than answer, though, he flicked one wing out and ran just the edges of the black feathers reverently down Dean’s side. Dean shivered hard, reaching out on instinct to grip some of them. 

Fuck, they were soft. Impossibly soft. Otherworldly soft. And warm, and almost...pulsing? Thrumming with some kind of energy at their core.

Dean sifted his fingers through them, turning his attention to what he was doing. He couldn’t resist it, they were...It was as though he was coating his fingers in shimmering black oil. He watched, making noises of fascination at the way they rippled and shone, sleek and soft and deep _,_ like a black, starless sky.

The next thing he knew, the wing was under him, scooping him up, depositing him easily on his feet and nudging him into Cas’s chest.

“Woah,” he said, blinking, grasping at Cas’s sleeves, his heart still beating a mile a minute.

Suddenly, both wings were around him, closing like a curtain behind him, plunging them into total darkness. 

“ _Woah,_ hey _-_ -!”

“You like them.”

Cas’s voice was low and dark with pleasure.

Dean swallowed, and worked on leveling his breathing. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, breathless nevertheless, reaching blindly for the wall of feathers. “Why am I seeing them?”

“I believe they presented themselves to you as a sign of great devotion and loyalty.”

Dean couldn’t see his face, but there was something in Cas’s voice besides the pleasure and earnestness that made him take a step back. Dean parted the wing curtain. He pushed at them carefully and Cas got the hint, and pulled them back and away. In the dim lighting, he leveled Cas with a _not-buying-it_ stare. Though, there was a twinkle in his eye, a burning in his skin, and an ache in his chest that seemed determined to stay.

Cas spread his wings a little under Dean’s gaze and straightened, not breaking eye contact.

“Oh boy,” Dean said, flashing him a knowing grin, full of charm, “who knew you’d turn out to be such a flirt, huh?”

Cas’s feathers rippled. He fixed him with a blank, hard stare and Dean was forcibly reminded of the night they’d met in that barn. Something hot like iron slipped into his stomach.

“Well, c’mon, Big Bird. Spread ‘em.”

Cas snapped his wings out with the force of two tornadoes, nearly sending Dean sprawling again in the process. He fell back a step, eyes wide. They arched high and wide, brushing the ceiling and the walls. Just a solid towering mass of powerful downy feathers and bone, capable of lifting Dean’s weight and probably more, responsible for lightening speed angel travel. 

“Dude,” Dean said, returning his gaze to him with an awe-filled grin. Cas’s wings trembled and Dean was suddenly struck by the reminder that Cas could effortlessly snap him in half. “ _Yes._ ”

Cas’s wings wrapped around Dean, sending him once again stumbling into Cas’s chest.

Before Dean had the chance to protest, the wings disappeared, with the same _whoosh_ with which they’d arrived, dragging along his sides as they did so. Dean’s breath hitched, and he clutched at Cas, who at once grabbed his tie, and brushed a hand over his lips and then slowly over his cheek. 

Dean swallowed, gaze fixed on him.

“Where’d they go?”

“They’re so physical on this plane. They’d only get in the way.”

Cas pushed his hand into Dean’s hair.

“Will I see them again?”

He didn’t mean to ask the question, but the warm, pleased smile it got him was worth the less-than-dignified childish want _._ They were just so _cool._

“ _Only_ you are allowed to see them, Dean.”

Cas’s voice was low and soft, and his gaze had dropped to Dean’s lips.

“Oh,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows, the hot iron thing in his stomach burning even hotter. “Oh, so it’s kinda--”

“Intimate, yes,” Cas answered. “To see, let alone touch an angel’s wings...marks a level of trust and intimacy that is unparalleled.”

“Right,” Dean breathed, “and I just--”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted, somewhat sharply, and Dean found himself refocusing fast. “Of _course_ you did, don’t be stupid. Kiss me.”

Dean’s throat immediately dried. 

Dumbly, he nodded, and closed the gap between them. His hand flew to the back of Cas’s head and Dean carefully captured Cas’s bottom lip gently between his own, a warm, sweet, lingering pressure. He pulled back just slightly, before dipping in again with that same soft, sweet press of lips. He kissed his bottom lip once, twice, then his top. He felt Cas’s fingertips curl around his ear. Cas pressed forward, angling his head. He returned the pressure of each of Dean’s kisses easily, but it didn’t take long for Dean to pull back to get a good look at him, because he could feel Cas _smiling._

The smile grew the longer Dean looked at him, and then, fuck it, Dean was smiling, and Cas was pulling him back in, and they were kissing, and kissing, and _laughing_ when every attempt at a longer kiss was interrupted by one or both of them smiling again.

*

Ten minutes later found Dean lying on his back on the motel room bed, a useless, formless, hot, melted puddle of a man. 

His shirt was unbuttoned halfway and un-tucked from his pants; he still wore the pants, and even his shoes, but he couldn’t remember ever in his life feeling so damn naked.

Cas was on top of him, smothering him with kisses. His tie gone, his first three buttons undone, shirt un-tucked, hair a mess. He kissed along Dean’s jaw, down his neck, the dip of his collarbone. He kissed his forehead, his closed eyelids, the side of his nose, his cheek, his lips. Dean tried to return the pressure on his lips, head lifting minutely from the mattress, but it was gone again all too soon, and Cas was resuming the onslaught.

It was like Dean couldn’t move. He was tingling, trembling, clutching at Cas’s shirt with both hands and kept his head facing the ceiling, his eyes shut tight, brow furrowed like he was concentrating hard on something. Short little bursts of air kept shooting from his nostrils, and his lips parted occasionally to allow a little air.

Felt so good. 

Felt so terrifying, so...

Cas began to swiftly unbutton the rest of his shirt. Dean tingled _everywhere_ and Cas had barely touched him. He couldn’t survive this, but God-help-him, he’d lived a long life.

Cas pushed the shirt flaps aside and Dean gathered all the strength he possessed to sit up and let him pull it off. But instead of letting him lay back down, Cas grabbed the sides of his head and just looked at him, eyes fixating on every part of his face. 

Dean held his breath, lips slightly parted.

Cas didn’t say anything, just looked, like he was trying to fathom what he was looking at, and commit it to memory. Dean felt a lump rise in his throat. He swallowed hard, fingers flying to Cas’s buttons. He shoved his hands inside the open shirt flaps and wound his arms around Cas’s waist, pulling him snug against him.

It seemed to break the spell. Cas held the back of his head, tilting it upward, and kissed his forehead, his temple, his nose, his lips. Cas slid the shirt off and tossed it to the floor. He pushed Dean back down onto the bed and popped the button on his pants. There were several thuds as shoes hit the floor, and then Dean was pulling himself back onto the bed properly and Cas was following him, crawling over his mostly-bared body. Reverently, Cas leaned down and kissed his lips once, twice, before he pulled away and situated himself in between Dean’s legs, nudging them gently apart. 

On instinct, Dean sat up on his elbows to watch as Cas, almost absently, it seemed, reached back and curled a hand around Dean’s calf. He slid it all the way up to his thigh. Dean’s cock jumped, but Cas didn’t seem to notice. His hand jumped to Dean’s other hip, and then both hands were on Dean’s inner thighs, slowly roaming the length of them. A hand curled firmly under his knee and lifted one of his legs so that it was bent at an angle.

Dean could do nothing but twitch and tremble as Cas shifted and began kissing up the length of his inner thigh. It felt so damn good. Soft and slow and sweet. He felt a little bit like he was an object being worshipped. It was _ridiculous_ , he didn’t need to be worshipped, but, fuck, that was just Cas, wasn’t it, with his strange, intense angelic little ways. By the time Cas reached the edge of his briefs, he was rock hard and struggling not to show how much he liked it. Fuck, he liked it. Cas glanced up at him with a crooked little smile, then kissed his stomach, just under his belly button, making his muscles contract. Dean’s body felt shaky and loose, every inch of him oversensitive; so when Cas began to kiss his way up to his neck, he fell back onto the mattress and his thighs fell apart easily, allowing room for Cas to settle against him. He sighed under the warm weight, especially when Cas slid his arms up under Dean’s shoulders to give himself purchase to continue kissing Dean’s neck and collar. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed, “pants.”

Not even a second passed before Dean felt warm, bare skin shifting against his own. Lots of bare skin. He wiggled a little, and--yes, he was naked. They were both naked. Cas continued to kiss his neck like nothing had happened, though he did gasp a little breath against him. Dean laughed breathlessly and wiggled some more, running a hand down Cas’s back and the other through his hair. He had a sudden thought. This would be a lot easier with some--

“We need--”

But he didn’t finish the thought, because the warm weight on top of him and the hair under his fingertips suddenly disappeared. Dean blinked--then sat bolt upright, his heart in his throat, looking wildly around.

“Cas!”

He blinked in the darkness, stunned and confused. Two seconds later, Cas reappeared at the edge of the bed. Dean didn’t have time to feel anything other than relief, as Cas climbed onto the bed and over Dean at once, keeping one hand held aloft. 

“Don’t do that!” he snapped, leaning back.

But Cas was holding his hand over Dean’s cock, and something warm was dripping from it, drizzling over the head. Cas looked up at Dean, gaze heated.

“Apologies.”

“Do I want to know what the hell that is.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but dropped it in a moan, his head falling back. Cas’s hand was around his cock, spreading the warm, slick stuff over it until it was coated completely. He smeared it all over Dean’s hips and everything in between, dipping down to coat his balls (Dean swore), and finally spread the remaining oil over his own cock. 

“Come on,” Dean said feverishly, his irritation gone, tugging at him, “come on--”

Cas went, pushing Dean down onto the mattress. He positioned them exactly as they had been before he disappeared, arms sliding up under Dean’s shoulders, and slowly lowered his hips against Dean’s.

The slide was incredible. Dean’s hips jerked and his cock slid against Cas’s with impossibly slick ease. Cas moaned against his neck and bore his hips down, thrusting once.

“Yeah…” Dean barely breathed, his hips twitching helplessly. Cas’s grip tightened under Dean’s shoulders. He began to slide his hard cock up and over Dean’s, slowly, over and over, the pressure firm and consistent, hot and slick. Dean’s head lolled and his mouth fell open, and Cas held him and pressed open-mouthed kisses all over his jaw, neck, and shoulders, panting softly.

It wasn’t just the slide of cocks that felt so good, it was _everything_ : the intimate sensation of Cas between his legs, his stomach sliding along Dean’s own (a little slick now with the spreading of oil), his chest pressed against him, arms wound so tightly under him. His breath on Dean’s neck. _Castiel._

It was Castiel. _Finally._

“Cas...God…”

“Mm…”

Dean’s legs fell completely open and Cas let go of him, pushing himself upright so that he could find Dean’s hands and pin them to the bed. From this vantage point, he could straddle Dean’s open legs, which was what he did, knees bracketing his waist. With a bit of shifting and positioning, Cas lined up their cocks again and thrust, but this time, their balls slid against each other, too. Cas kept going, sliding his along the length of Dean’s cock and back down, and then slid their cocks together again. It was so unexpectedly deliberate and filthy of him, that Dean shook and moaned a trembling moan, his hands clenching and un-clenching under Cas’s hold. 

“ _Fuck_ , oh fuck yeah---” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Cas inhaled and did it again and one more time, before dipping back down to gather Dean in his arms again. 

“Dean…” he breathed in his ear.

With a little growl, Dean lifted a leg and in a whirl of color and breath and skin, he had Cas under him. He promptly buried his face in Cas’s neck, lips near his ear, and continued the steady thrusting, but picked up a little speed. Cas’s hands immediately found his back and they slid down it and over the swell of his ass. Dean nearly froze---and groaned pitifully when Cas’s fingers dug in deep, encouraging his movements. 

“Harder,” he growled into his ear, biting his earlobe. 

Cas made a strangled noise and dug his fingers in deeper, pulling at him with more force, spreading him open obscenely. Their hips were pressed flush together, sliding against each other with hot, slick, force. 

Dean pressed his head against the side of Cas’s and breathed heavily, shakily into his ear. Cas brushed the tip of his finger over his very exposed asshole and _pressed._ Dean came just like that, his cock jerking and spilling between them, spreading the mess around even more. He rolled and rolled his hips, shuddering, moaning, sweating. 

Cas came seconds later, clutching Dean’s ass like it was a lifeline.

As their movements slowed, as they stopped rolling against each other, grunting and panting, Cas’s hands slid up to his waist. He wound his arms around Dean and held on tight with a big sigh, sounding like he could happily die right then and there. Dean relaxed gracelessly in his hold, dropping his full weight on him, his legs knocking against and then melting into Cas’s, his head resting heavily on his shoulder, nose pressed deep into his neck.

They breathed deeply and heavily against each other, the only sounds in the room for several long moments.

“That was…” came Cas’s voice, sounding wrecked.

“Fuckin’ _heavenly_ ,” Dean groaned, not yet returned to himself.

Cas laughed, his body shaking under Dean’s. Dean snorted against his neck.

“Better than that.”

“Yeah?”

Cas paused and then said very decisively, “Quick.”

Dean grinned, helpless. “Hot.”

“Very hot and very fast, yes.”

“Hell yeah.”

They fell into a stunned, heavily satisfied silence.

Dean’s thoughts very slowly began to circulate again. But, unsurprisingly, they were all filled with the way Cas had moved against him, so natural, so _human_ , and the way he’d gripped his ass, squeezing, pulling. The way he’d moaned, God, the way he’d _touched_ him, without reservation, eagerly, confidently. The heat in his eyes, the heat (Dean shifted against Cas) of his _body_ underneath him, the weight of his arms around him--

“ _Damn it_ , Cas,” Dean found himself breathing, and he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees over Cas, looking down at him intently. He plunged a hand into Cas’s wild hair. “You’re kinda sexy.”

He felt loose. Free. Like he could do anything just then. Say anything. It was a totally foreign feeling to Dean, and a heady one that had him leaning down to kiss Cas, a long, wet, sex-soaked kiss that Cas eagerly accepted, pushing up against him, hands going to his waist again and then trailing up his sides. One brushed his belly and turned into a flat palm running up his chest to curl around his neck.

They kissed and kissed, intimate and slow, wet lips sliding past each other, tongues hot, sharing breath until there was no breath left.

“Sexy…” Cas repeated when they parted, still wrecked, and now dazed and pleased.

Dean hummed, dropping his forehead to Cas’s.

“Sexy little angel…” he murmured to him, teasingly. 

Cas stiffened and went still, barely breathing. A startling bolt of arousal and realization surged through Dean and he went still, too. 

“You like that, don’t you?” he whispered.

“I…” Cas’s voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you would talk so much.”

The tips of Dean’s ears went hot, but he wasn’t ashamed in the slightest.

“Yeah, uh. I do that.”

“Say it again.”

“Sexy angel,” Dean said again, understanding, without hesitation, kissing him firmly, his hand tightening in Cas’s hair. But then his kisses became softer, and he moved down to Cas’s neck, kissing him there very gently. “My angel…”

Cas made a noise like he didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or moan. It made Dean’s heart clench and ache. His cock gave an interested twitch.

Holy hell. Impressive.

“Should be odd…” Cas murmured, eyes wide and shining with something like long-awaited relief.

“Hm?” Dean tilted his head and gazed down at him, heated, but soft.

“You...calling me ‘angel.’ It should feel strange, like if I were to refer to you as ‘human.’ But the way you say it, it’s...like you’re…”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly.

“My human,” Cas said just as softly, as if completing the thought. It wasn’t what he was going to say, but Dean understood it for the answer and the demonstration that it was.

Throat tight, he rested his forehead against Cas’s.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he whispered. 

Cas tilted his chin up and kissed Dean gently in response.

“We’re here now,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean said, threading his fingers through Cas’s on the bed. “We’re here now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Thinking of doing a continuation of this. Please let me know in the comments if you'd be interested!


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